The Indefagitable Girl And The Consulting Detective
by Raychel945
Summary: Chelsea Griffiths was a Uni student with a penchant for adrenaline. She was fairly normal until one Valentine's Day, when her life began changing. Six months on she's finally decided to do something about it, and goes to Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. A/N I do not own BBC Sherlock, Arthur Conan Doyle does, and Steven Moffat. Unfortunately.
1. Introduction

Why? It was a simple question really, but there was no simple answer. Not for Chelsea Griffiths, twenty-three year old Uni student. She didn't understand it. It didn't scare her, she wasn't paranoid, it just frankly perplexed her. Every week since February 14th 2013 she had recieved flowers. The same flowers, in the same style bouquet, manner, and scent. The only thing that wasn't the same was the notes that arrived. It didn't really bother her. It was just annoying. Chelsea wasn't a simpleton, she wasn't stupid. She could handle herself. If you asked any of her friends what she was like, they'd call her a "Freak", an adrenaline junkie, intelligent, perplexing, ordinary, out-of-the-ordinary Uni student. She was incredibley British, loved her tea and jammy dodgers, and watched Doctor Who every night it was on, like it was a religion she must follow. Apart from her "ridiculous obsession with adrenaline" as her best friends endearingly called it, she was painfully normal. Almost. Afterall not every Uni student goes street dancing, and earns a huge crowd of London fans.

Chealsea was only five foot six. She had long brown hair that reached her waist, and eyes that were dominantly green in most lights, a strange shade of blue in some, and steel gray in another. She was stubborn, beyond most belief. If Chealsea gave someone her promise, she'd stick to it like a limpet. She was worst than a Scot on beer. And then there was her absolute calm. She was like a giant rock sticking out amongst stormy waters. She had nothing to push her away, and if there was one thing she hated it was people who panicked. She hadn't even panicked when a black widow spider, one of the worlds deadliest,had crawled up her arm. She had been positively fascinated by the creature, before she had flicked it into the solution of industrial strength cleaning detergent. So it would have been no surprise to any who knew her when she woke up in her bed, surrounded by what appeared to be a shrine to her, and blinked tiredly. It was only when she read the note that she realised something was really off. The giant note was posted on her wall, and she read it carefully, studying the calligraphy intently, a half-interested expression on her face, before she pushed off and went to get breakfast. _It's time_, she thought, _to deal with this once and for all._

Sherlock was bored. Bored. Bored! BORED! There was absolutely nothing to occupy his mind, and now John was barely around anymore it was even more boring. There was no laptop to hack into, no flatmate to accidentaly on purpose annoy, and worse yet the results of his experiment lay on the floor in pieces. So when Mrs Hudson knocked on the door, he welcomes the interuption heartily, although he would have never said so. The elderly woman looked in and sighed.

"Sherlock? Oh dear, this flat is a bit of a mess isn't it?" The consulting detective groaned, and sat up.

"It's always like this, Mrs Hudson." Mrs Hudson looked at him in a motherly way.

"It seems empty without John, doesn't it?" Sherlock paused, and then looked out of the window. A cab had just pulled up. A woman stepped out of the cab, and talked to the driver for a bit, before handing over the fare, and turning to the door. He heard the doorbell, and no sooner had it done so than Mrs Hudson hurried out, her face morphing into a welcoming one. Sherlock returned to his seat and waited. Footsteps came up, one fairly light, the other almost indiscernable. Two voices came up, one that of his elderly landlady, the other light, and lilting, with a Scottish/Australian/New Zealand hint to it, but the accent was mainly English. It was gentle, but held hints of excitement, and Sherlock sensed a force behind it. He sensed that if that woman wanted to yell, she would have no trouble drowning out any sounds with her own voice. The door opened, and Mrs Hudson entered.

"Sherlock, there's a client for you." The young woman entered and immediately Sherlock's mind went into deductions. _University student, calm, collected, breakfast was cereal, touch of insomnia, recently patted a dog not her own, no boyfriend, not experiencing any family problem, __very fit, small tan, very self-confident__. ?_

It wasn't often that Sherlock was unable to deduce people, but there was something about her. His mind immediately went back to calm and collected. She was standing there blinking at him, a hint of puzzlement on her face. Finally she spoke.

"Mr Holmes, I presume." He nodded." I'm Chelsea Griffiths, I'm studying at Uni, and I've got a bit of a perplexing matter which occured recently if you wouldn't mind having a listen." Sherlock's eyes flickered all over her form before he gestured to the chair opposite.

"Please. Sit down, and tell me what you have." His baritone voice washed over her, and she nearly blinked to refocus herself. She seated herself in a lady-like manner, giving Sherlock one more thing about her to add to his bits of information on her. She watched Sherlock calmly for a bit, before pulling her phone out of her handbag, and clearing her throat. He was quite a handsome man, she thought. His face was angular, but gorgeous, with cheekbones to die for, his eyes were quite frankly amazing, his curls were raven black, and her fingers almost twitched in the desire to run them through her fingers, he was quite obviously tall even from his slouched position in the chair, and and fairly lean. He played the violin, and was either messy by nature, or quite eccentric. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she cleared her throat again.

"I suppose I should start at the beginning Mr Holmes. I'm a Uni student, you see, and I'm pretty ordinary. I know no boys have been showing interest in me, and that's why I am so perplexed. You see, on Valentines Day this year, I received flowers from an annonymous person with a note. Lovely calligraphy, and the flowers were pretty too, but they looked familiar, and then I realised they were almost identical to the ones my dad gives my mum every weekend, but in white instead of pink. I've received them ever since with all these notes. For the first few weeks I chucked them out since, I thought it was a boy having a crush on me, so I chucked them to dissuade them. But they continued, and no one knows anything.

If I'm being quite honest Mr Holmes, I'm a bit of an Internet sensation. You see, I'm an adrenaline junkie. I love the thrill I get from doing freerunning, parkour and a list of martial arts. I became an Internet sensation when I got bored one day, and decided to climb a twelve story building and jump it. Someone bloody filmed it, and put it on Facebook, Google, and bloody Youtube, and now I'm popular. I also do street dancing, and I have my own little corner in Hyde Park where I go, and dance whenever I can, and I attract a bit of a crowd. They give me a decent sum of money, and they're quite nice, and I somehow doubt that anyone of them would do that. I memorise their faces, you see, and make sure that if I see any strangers, I look and see them again. I've seen nothing suspicious though." Taking a deep breath after that little speech, she turned on her phone, and typed in a password.

"I'm used to receiving the flowers every morning, and so it didn't surprise me when I saw them, but it was the state of the rest of the room. I left it undisturbed, and took several pictures." She handed Sherlock the phone, and he studied it intently. It was set up like a shrine to the Uni student. He focused on the note and read it. Looking up at Chelsea he studied her again.

"You don't seem to be terrified by the fact you're being stalked." Chelsea shrugged.

"I thought it was a harmless prank when it went on for a bit longer, but I don't go paranoid or get angry easy, so I wondered if you could help. It's quite frankly a bother having to dispose of them, and I was wondering if you could help me." Sherlock looked at the phone, and considered. If it had been anyone else, but Chelsea Griffiths, he might have solved it in under five minutes, but with Chelsea it was impossible. It could be anyone. There weren't that many girls like Chelsea, who would be completely unfazed by the fact they were being stalked. Chelsea on the otherhand was sitting there as cool as a cucumber, with an eyebrow raised. He looked up at her, and nodded.

"I'll take the case." She smiled at him.

"Thanks a million, Mr Holmes, it's been getting out of hand." Sherlock looked up at her, and studied her again. His eyes raked every inch of her from head to toe, before they met hers, and probed almost accusingly into them, trying to stare into her soul. He thought that just looking her up and down would have made any person slightly uncomfortable, but she looked bored, and she met his gaze equally. She was intrigueing. Not in a manner like the woman, but intrigueing in her own little way. She became an Internet sensation, had a stalker, let said stalker stalk her for six months, and then finally decided to go to a sociopathic detective, who listened to her, took her case, and then started staring at her in a very ungentlemanly manner, and was completely unfazed. His brain registered that her pupils dilated while she stared at him, and he folded that away too. Testing her unfazed manner he leaned backwards.

"You're attracted to me." He stated, and waited for her reaction. Again, it was calm and collected. Chelsea shrugged, and leaned back too.

"You're a handsome man, someone would have to hate you to not be physically attracted to you. And I have a weakness for tall, dark-haired guys. My bad." Sherlock studied her again. Her cheeks had tinged just the slightest bit pink, but otherwise nothing changed. She was still very calm and collected, not the slightest bit embarrassed. Her gaze was frank as though there was nothing that could embarrass her. They studied each other a while longer, before Chelsea's phone let out a text alert. Rolling her eyes, she pulled out the phone, and typed in a very long password, before she read her text and sighed. In response to Sherlock's questioning gaze, she replied.

"Best friends wondering where I am. Bit annoying as well. But they do get so sentimental. Motherly, you might say. I had thought I'd left that behind." She moved to get up, and Sherlock furrowed his brows thinking. Like a whiplash his hand flew out, and he held his palm open. Chelsea blinked once, and he sighed.

"Phone, please. I'm giving you my number so you can text me the location. I will be over to investigate." Chelsea handed over her phone, and watched him type his number into her contacts, his fingers flying over the keyboard, before her handed her phone back. She turned away to leave.

"Goodbye Miss Griffiths." He called, and she turned at the door.

"People call me Chelsea. Mr Holmes." She smiled, and turned again.

"People call me Sherlock. Chelsea." She turned back again, and smiled.

"See you later, Sherlock."

"The same to you, Chelsea." He watched her as she left, and descended the stairs, her footsteps still quiet against the silence that had filled Baker Street.


	2. Freerunning

A/N Sorry about the bried intro, had planned to make it longer, but if it weren't for annoying siblings (shoots pointed glare at unsuspecting brother) then I would have written more, and anyways enjoy! I hope you liked the interaction between Chelsea and Sherlock!

Chelsea sighed as she made her way to the lecture. It was nearly eleven o'clock, and already she felt tired. Hoping that Sherlock would be able to help her, she hurried into the lecture room, and sent a brief smile to everyone around her. A red-haired girl moved over, and glared at her, before glancing at the lecturer.

"What the hell, Chelsea?! Where were you?" She furiously whispered in her friend's ear. Chelsea sighed.

"It's okay Jess, I was just chatting to someone." Jess rolled her eyes.

"And that was so important that you ignored my text for a good five minutes." She replied sarcastically. Chelsea pulled out her phone, and passed it to Jess, who glanced at the picture, and then back up at Chelsea. _What the heck is this _was clearly written all over here face.

"Someone decorated my bedroom, while I was asleep." The look on Jess's face was priceless when she heard that, and she clapped her hands over her mouth, and stared at Chelsea. They stared at each other for a while, and then Jess leaned forward.

"What are you going to do about it?" She whispered.

"I've already done something about it. I've this bloke onto it."

"Who?"

"He's a bit of an enigma really, he's...

"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective." A deep baritone cut in smoothly, interupting their secret conversation. Jess squeaked, and turned around her eyes widening in surprise. Chelsea waited until her heart rate had calmed back down to it's slightly under average resting rate, before she turned to face Sherlock. His face was only inches from her's, and she stared into his ever-changing eyes for a few seconds, before blinking, and leaning back. She gazed at him calmly and then she noted his change in attire.

"Nice scarf." She complimented, and his eyes narrowed slightly, before he nodded, and studied Jess. Before he could say anything Chelsea cut in.

"If you want to head up to my dorm, and investigate it's number twenty-three A, corridor six, hall 2." Sherlock nodded, and slipped away, leaving the lecture hall as quietly as he had slipped in. Jess turned back to Chelsea.

"Chels, that guy is soooo hot. What the hell?!" Chelsea rolled her eyes.

"Shush, do you mind, I have to listen. We have an exam later this week!" Jess sighed, and nudged her friend twice, before turning and listening to the lecture, although she insisted on nudging Chels again several times during the lecture. When the bell rang signifying lunch, Chelsea slipped out, and sprinted all the way to her room on silent feet, glad to escape her over-inquisitive friend. She paused outside her room, and looked curiously upon a mind-palace involved Sherlock. She coughed once, and then cleared her throat loudly to catch his attention.

Sherlock slipped out of the lecture hall, and following Chelsea's instructions, made his way into her room. It was decorated in obvious admiration to the student. Pictures of her in mid-air were surrounded by roses. Rose petals were scattered across the floor, and Sherlock's mind went into instant deductions. _Expensive stationary, Bohemian, left-handed writing, French calligraphy, extensive care to detail, roses exact same hue of white, no blemishes, Rosa __Pimpinellifoliae. _He prowled restlessly around the room, examining every area affected, and not affected. The stationary was studied intently. Whirling around he closed his eyes, and delved into his mind palace, opening up a room for Chelsea, and storing everything in there he could catalogue. He was just emerging when he dimly heard a cough. Blinking once, he heard someone clear their throat, and he turned to see Chelsea standing by the door, watching him placidly. He blinked again, and she stepped into the room, and gave it a once over.

"Did you get anything?" Her tone was part curiosity part boredom, and he wondered if she met her stalker whether she would be that bored. He nodded, and looked around, before spinning back.

"Do you have anything scheduled for the rest of today?" She blinked several times, and then shook her head looking bored. Sherlock grinned, and almost danced out of the room, leaving Chelsea behind in confusion. Sherlock came back, and raised an eyebrow at her. "You're supposed to follow me." He stated, and she raised an eyebrow at him. Chelsea whirled around and grabbed a tan trenchcoat, and then held out her hand. He sighed, and grabbing her wrist pulled her out of the room, and along the corridor. Chelsea felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins, and her pupils dilated, eyelids narrowing, limbs tensing, muscles working themselves into the precise movements so familiar to her. She sped up, no longer being dragged along Sherlock, but dragging him. She dodged easily through the crowds of people flooding the University halls, and leapt quite easily to the side. The duo pounded down the steps and onto the street, Sherlock slowing automatically to catch a cab, but stopping entirely when Chelsea tugged on his hand.

"Where are we going?" Her face was flushed slightly, and her nostrils flared slowly with each deep breath she took. Sherlock looked at her.

"Baker Street." He stated, his voice clipped, and he went to hail a cab, but Chelsea stopped him.

"Why don't we run there?" Sherlock looked at her like she was mad, and a coy smile rose on her face. "We'd beat the traffic." A smile came out on his face, and he jogged off, letting her pull on her trenchcoat, and follow him. She took off, hands going from thigh to cheek in a sprinters pose, and quickly overtook him. Sherlock sped up to catch up with her, and was impressed slightly when she pulled ahead again. He smiled and pulled up with her, but she pulled away yet again. Speeding up completely she seperated the distance between them by a good five meters, head held high, adrenaline coursing through her like a flood through a break in a dam. Bystanders, and pedestrians turned to stare at them as they thundered by. Chelsea slowed to let Sherlock catch up, and grinned up at him, pleased when he grinned back.

Facing forwards she watched the traffic at an upcoming crossroads, and sprinting forwards took up the challenge. Hands splaying out by her sides, she looked at the cars coming up, and racing out onto the road, placed her hands on the bonnet of a passing car, and flipped over the bonnet to repeat the motions with another. She crossed the road successfully, and pounded along the pavement, smiling widely as she hurdled over various obstacles, jumping and grabbing hold of a signpost to throw herself over a tea table at an outdoor cafe, before executing a perfect landing, and flipping over yet another table. Her parkour, and freerunning skills were into full execution now, and every movement was a performance for those watching, but for her, just a practiced routine which she executed so brilliantly she left passersby absolutely stunned in her wake, and that of the consulting detective following her, hurdling, and throwing himself over objects in a pretty effective, but much less spectacular way than she. Together the pair made quite an attraction as they raced through the streets of London, the Uni student, parkour and free-running extremist in her tan trenchcoat with her hair streaming behind her like her coat, and the Consulting Detective in his blue trenchcoat, curls bouncing ever so slightly with each movement. When they finally arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock was absolutely breathless, Chelsea only slightly less so. They leaned against the stairs gasping for breath, cheesy grins on their faces, before Sherlock spoke.

"That. Was. Fan-bloody-tastic." He gasped for breath, and chuckled when Chelsea let out a short bark of laughter, followed by a giggle.

"Not so much. I've been preparing for exams, so I've got a bit out of shape. I can run across London at it's widest point, in two hours, and twenty-three minutes exactly. I timed myself. Although that is without hurling myself over random objects." Sherlock grinned at that.

"Yeah. Pretty impressive that." Chelsea nodded at the praise, and smiled.

"Well, just in case you forget I do do parkour, and free-running. Just in case you forget." Sherlock chuckled at the sarcasm in her tone, and then pounded up the stairs followed closely by Chelsea. For the second time that day, she entered the flat, and seated herself. Sherlock turned to her.

"I have a proposition to make." Chelsea looked up at him.

A/N Dun dun dun dunnn! What does Sherlock have to say? Guess. You never will! LOL see ya guys!


	3. A Meeting With The British Governement

A/N Sorry about that last chappie being so short, but it was my bedtime and Mum was a pain, so I had to hurry. I hope this chappie makes up for it. Also I'm not really used to writing fanfiction, so any helpful advice would be really appreciated. Thanks!

"_I have a proposition to make." Sherlock stated._

Chelsea calmly looked up at him, eyes crinkled slightly.

"No shit, Sherlock." Was her answer, and Sherlock raised a brow at her reply, before plowing ahead regardless.

"It seems like there are several stages to this. Your admirer/stalker gives you every weekend, but you keep throwing them away. Six months on, you find a shrine dedicated to you. This keeps happening until finally on Valentine's Day next year, you finally meet your stalker. But until then I suggest you stay at Baker Street, and then we can discuss...

"Whoa, whoa whoa! Hold up there Spiderman! You think that this person is planning to do this for the rest of the year until next Valentine's Day! I'm supposed to put up with this until next Valentine's Day! And then there's the chance of possible kidnapping, or whatever! This person is a psycho! What the heck am I meant to do? I can't deal with all that trash clogging up my room!" She plopped down on the edge of Sherlock's chair, and sighed dejectedly.

"That's why I suggested you stay at Baker Street until then." Chelsea looked up at him quickly.

"Move out of my Uni dorm, and move in with you? Can I consider that?" Sherlock shrugged.

"Be my guest. It's your safety." Chelsea stood up.

"Thanks for the offer, but even though there is a potential psycho stalking me, I'm really not sure. I'll see you later." Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement, and Chelsea slipped down the stairs. She didn't look where she was going and collided with the elderly lady from earlier.

"Oh dear, Madam I am so sorry." She gripped the woman's shoulder to stop her from falling backwards. The woman steadied herself and chuckled.

"No harm done dearie, and who are you?" Chelsea grinned at the woman, instantly put at ease.

"I'm Chelsea Griffiths, how do you do?" She put out her hand which the elderly woman shook.

"Mrs Hudson, I'm Sherlock's landlady. I must say it's nice to meet such a polite person as you." Chelsea smiled at that.

"Well bad manners never got anyone anywhere. I hope I didn't hurt you or anything?"

"Oh no, bless you dear, I was just going up to see if Sherlock wanted some tea." Chelsea grinned even wider when she heard that.

"He'll probably need it. I just took him on a two mile run through London." Mrs Hudson's eyes widened.

"Well in that case!" Chelsea laughed at her expression, and continued on her path down stairs. "It was lovely to meet you Mrs Hudson. Have a nice day." She waved her hand to the friendly landlady, and recieved a beaming smile in return.

"It was a pleasure to meet you too dear. I hope you enjoy your day as well."

"I will!" And with that Chelsea sprang out the door onto the London streets, cheerily strolling down the sidewalk. Slinging her handbag over her shoulder she whistled a tune which earned her looks of both annoyance and approval from passersby. But this walk was different, it was like a battleground. Someone out there was potentially stalking her. Was it the young man gazing at the pastries in the window of a bakery with a cigarette in his mouth? Or was it the fat, bearded man who had grinned at her when she shouldered her way past him, the tune to "Bridge On The River Kwai" coming out of her mouth, loudly and enthusiastically? Her eyes darted around furtively, not betraying her cheery behaviour as she continued on her path. A telephone rang as she passed by the booth, and she looked at it before continueing on. The ringing stopped as soon as she passed it by. Turning back she came up to it, and as if on cue the phone rang. Her eyebrow rose, and she stepped away from it. It continued ringing for a heartbeat longer before it stopped. Stepping directly in front of it, she waited until it rang. Stepping into the booth, she picked up the phone and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Miss Griffiths." A cold voice answered, and Chelsea shrugged.

"I see what you did there. That was a little bit confusing. Anyways, are you my stalker, or just a random prank caller, cause whichever one you are, I am not interested."

"Neither, I am an interested party. Get in the car Miss Griffiths." A black car pulled up to the curb, and Chelsea raised an eyebrow.

"Neat car. Are you kidnapping me? Or interrogating me?" A chuckle was heard on the other end and Chelsea suppressed a smile. At least the person had a sense of humour.

"More of an interrogation I suppose, but it would probably look more like a kidnapping." Chelsea grinned.

"Ooh, plot twist. Cool. Catch you later." Hanging up the phone, she stepped out onto the curb, and the driver opened the door for her. She nodded to him, a pleasant smile on her face, and stepped into the car. A dark-haired woman with a phone in her hand looked up and nodded. Chelsea nodded, and leaned back comfortably in her seat, gazing out the window as the drive went on and on, passing through London. She sighed in boredom, and spoke simply for the sake of saying it.

"It would have been much faster to have given me the location. I would have made it in half the time." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the woman look up. Turning around she faced her. "I'm guessing you already know my name, so what's your's if you don't mind me asking?" A look of surprise momentarily crossed the woman's features.

"Anthea." She replied, before returning to her Blackberry. Chelsea nodded.

"Nice name, but I'm guessing that's a cover name." Anthea nodded at that, and Chelsea smiled to herself.

"I'm guessing that since this isn't a kidnapping, I'm going to meet someone important. Any clues I can take?" Her tone was teasing, and Anthea looked up, a smile playing over her face.

"No clues allowed, sorry." Chelsea grinned right back.

"Sorry, already guessed some. I couldn't help but notice." Anthea chuckled at Chelsea, and they shared a conspiratal giggle, before the car stopped, and Chelsea looked at the window. "Abandoned warehouse. Nice place. Little bit intimidating though. Catch you later." She called as she got out and looked around. A man in a suit was leaning on an umbrella several meters away, and Chelsea strode confidently towards him, a small smile playing on her features. It was all designed to intimidate her, but she was most definitely not intimidated. "Hello." She called to the suited man, and he guestured to a chair nearby.

"Do take a seat." He told her, his voice polite, and very British. Chelsea instantly recognised him to be phone man.

"No, thank you, I feel like standing, and I already had a nice rest." A small smile which looked more like a smirk crossed his face.

"Ah yes. Chelsea Griffiths, parkour and freerunning expertise. You must be used to standing up then." Chelsea nodded.

"Well you know my name, I don't suppose it would be allright if I learnt your's it's only fair." The man hesitated.

"I am... an interested party." This time it was Chelsea's face that bore the smirk.

"Oh come now, do play fair! You basically just kidnapped me right out of the streets, I'm in a situation in which I have no choice, and you won't even give me a name. Tsk, tsk, that's not playing fair. Come on now." A helpless look crossed the man's face, and he looked down, before meeting Chelsea's eyes.

"Holmes. Mycroft Holmes." Chelsea smiled.

"Right, and, do tell me. Does a flair for dramatics run in the family?" A smile crossed Mycroft's face at that.

"It's worse in Sherlock." He protested slightly, but Chelsea would have none of that.

"Oh no it isn't, you just choose a more subtle way of showcasing." The smile disappeared, and then reappeared before he met her eyes again. Chelsea grinned widely at him. "Now, I am sure you didn't just call me here for pep talk, so I'll let you speak, because I'm sure that you must have something of greater importance." She waved her hand airily, and Mycroft shifted uncomfortably, retaking control of the situation.

"You are acquainted with my brother, and he offered you a place to stay while he dealt with your stalker." Chelsea nodded. "I am willing to offer a substantial amount of money if you agree to... well let's say... keep an eye on my brother." Chelsea looked at him.

"Brotherly love?" Mycroft looked down.

"I am concerned for him." He stated, and Chelsea smiled.

"I know. I have a younger brother, I was always concerned for his safety. Sherlock must give you a good deal of concern, then?" Mycroft nodded.

"His field of work is more dangerous than you think. He has been shot more than once, poisoned, and threatened with death more times than you can count." Chelsea's eyes widened.

"That's a heck of a lot. I can do up to my twenty-five times tables off by heart!" Mycroft smirked at that.

"It is a lot. You can see my problem." Chelsea looked at the floor, and then back up.

"Are you appealing to my sense of understanding into sibling relationships?" Mycroft looked down, and Chelsea smiled. "Because it's working, and yeah, I'm willing." Mycroft looked up, and smiled at her too. They shared a grin, and then Chelsea turned and looked at the car behind her. "I'm guessing our conversation is over now?" Mycroft nodded, and walked away, twirling his umbrella.

"See you soon, Miss Griffiths." Chelsea smirked, and started walking back to the car.

"The same to you, Mr Holmes. Give my love to the Queen!" Mycroft turned around and watched her as she strode confidently over to the car, and got in. Shaking his head he continued to his car, but one thought that crossed his mind was that he had severly miscalculated Chelsea Griffiths. Severly. And if anyone ever crossed her in the wrong way, he had no doubt they would be dealt with in the same confident manner she had displayed in walking up to him and chatting. It would never be wise to get on her bad side, and he shuddered to think what might happen.

Chelsea climbed into the car, and smiled at Anthea who smiled back, and then settled back to enjoy the ride. They reached the inner depths of the city, and then all of a sudden, Chelsea held up a hand.

"Can we stop here? I'll go the rest of the way on foot." The driver and Anthea looked at her in surprise. Chelsea grinned, and Anthea looked at the driver, and nodded. The car pulled over, and Chelsea stepped out of the car, and looked at Anthea. "See you later, Anthea." She said, and promptly dodged a car that nearly ran her over. Both people watched as she neatly dodged the traffic to get to the pavement where she took off in a sprint, leaping up in a spectacular way to grab hold of a lamppost, and swing up in the air, coming back down to repeat the motion with another lamppost. Anthea held up her phone, and snapped picture of her, and sent it to Mycroft, before driving off, shaking her head in wonder at the brunette freerunner.

Chelsea shot throught the London streets enjoying the burning sensation in her biceps and triceps, as she flung herself from lamppost to signpost and again, until she reached Baker Street. Grinning she noticed Sherlock in the upper window watching for her, and she smirked as she noticed the expression of astonishment on his face. Dropping the three meters to the pavement she crouched in a spring and flipped onto the doorstep, before politely knocking. She waited until the door opened, and Mrs Hudson looked at her.

"Oh hello, dear. Are you renting John's old room?" Chelsea smiled and winked at her.

"Yes, just don't tell Sherlock, I want to tell him myself." Mrs Hudson nodded, and returned the wink. Taking a deep breath Chelsea ran up the stairs, taking them four at a time, and then knocking at the door. Sherlock's baritone floated through the door.

"Yes." Pushing it open, she schooled her features into blank, and bored.

"Hello Sherlock. About flatting with you? I need to know what you're like before I agree to anything." He looked at her, and then sighed, standing up.

"I play violin music at all hours of the night, keep body parts in the fridge, do experiments all the time, go out on cases at all hours, shoot guns at the wall, and I have been told I am an arsehole all the time." He watched her intently to see her reaction, but she merely raised an eyebrow and stepped forward.

"I play my assortment of classical, pop, rock, and techno music whenever I feel the need to, I practice my parkour and freerunning, as well as martial arts and self-defence whenever I can, I sing loudly and unrepentantly, I play the piano, guitar, and I'm learning violin, beware I will burst out into random singing and I have absolutely no idea when. I love being annoying so beware that too, I am a bit of a hygiene freak, but I will ask before I move any experiments, I love telly, and I met your brother today." Sherlock had been nodding looking around, bored already, but he turned back when she mentioned Mycroft.

"Did he ask you to spy on me?" Chelsea smirked.

"Yes. He appealed to my sensibilities as an elder sibling. I accepted of course. I hope you don't mind, but I thought I could use the money." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"He didn't intimidate you." Chelsea sighed.

"I don't think he could." Sherlock turned fully to her, and his incredulous expression was well worth it, but all he muttered was "That's a first."


	4. Moving In

A/N Hope you enjoyed the Mycroft/Chelsea standown. I'm pretty proud of it! Anyways here's another chappie for y'all! Enjoy!

It had been a week since Chelsea had seen Sherlock, and today was the day she was going to move in. Five minutes ago Sherlock had summoned her to Baker Street. Well the conversation had gone more like this.

_Baker Street. Now. -SH_

_Why? -CG_

_Because I need you. -SH_

_Do you have new information? -CG_

_Do I need to? -SH_

_Don't answer a question with a question because it merely states there isn't new information, and therefore could hardly be relevant. -CG_

_There is someone I need you to meet. To be specific two people. -SH_

_Why? Are they my stalkers? -CG_

_No. -SH_

_Are they attacking you? Threatening you? -CG_

_No. -SH_

_Then I'm not coming. -CG_

_Please? -SH_

_I'm begging you. -SH_

_It's important Chelsea, and is relevant to your staying at Baker Street. -SH_

_No. -CG_

_The two people in question don't believe you are a parkour and freerunner expert. -SH_

_So? -CG_

_I've left the window open. -SH_

_I'm coming as you speak. -CG_

Sherlock was bored. Bored and tired. John, Mary, and Mrs Hudson were seated eating biscuits around the table, and occasionally sending glances his way. When Mrs Hudson had told the couple that a lovely young woman was taking John's old room, John had instantly demanded to know how Sherlock had let her.

"How in the blazes did you ever convince a woman to flat with you?"

"Easily. She's being stalked and it's part of the plan. She's also very interesting, she does parkour and freerunning, and she jumped the Shard. She's very fast too." Before Sherlock had even completed his brief monologue, Mary was smirking at John's bewildered expression. But both looked confused when Sherlock opened the window, and smiled.

"She's very clever, John. She doesn't appear to be bothered by the fact that she's being stalked, and we can use that to concoct a way of capturing her stalker." John opened his mouth to reply but was stopped by Mrs Hudson, who came in and set down tea and biscuits. Mary immediatley took two biscuits and Sherlock smirked. John opened his mouth again, and turned back, only to step back when he registered the figure on the window sill. Sherlock turned, and looked at the young brunette, who stared at them in a bored manner.

"A former army Doctor, and his pregnant wife? That's who you wanted me to meet?" She said turning to Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Come here Chelsea." And he held out his hand. The brunette smiled, and standing up in the sill, took Sherlock's hand, and stepped lightly down. Stepping forward, she held out her hand to John.

"Chelsea Griffiths, and you are?" John cleared his throat, and shook her hand.

"John Watson." Chelsea raised an eyebrow, and John cleared his throat. "Captain John Watson, formerly of the 5th Northumberland Fusilers in Afghanistan." Chelsea nodded, and stepped to Mary.

"And you?" Mary stood up.

"Mary Watson, and it's nice to meet you, Chelsea." Chelsea nodded.

"Pleasure to meet both of you. Any new info Sherlock?" She said turning to said consulting detective, who shook his head, and plopped in his seat. Chelsea shrugged, and spun around before registering that Mrs Hudson was there.

"Oh! Mrs Hudson! How are you? I do beg your pardon!" The elderly lady stepped forward smiling.

"Oh I'm fine dear. It's perfectly allright. Would you like some tea?" Chelsea nodded.

"I'm absolutely starved!" Sherlock instantly turned and stared at her.

"No. No, you're not. You had a nice full English breakfast." Chelsea stepped towards Sherlock and loomed over him.

"I have a fast metabolism. I am starved!" Grabbing a couple of gingersnaps, she stuffed them in her mouth and closed her eyes as she chewed. "Mmm, delicious! We need to do cooking together Mrs Hudson! I love these!" Mrs Hudson smiled, and turned to her.

"It's Martha dear, and of course we can do baking together." Then she frowned. "Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"You haven't eaten." Martha told him reproachfully, and Sherlock turned to her.

"I do not eat when I am on a case." Chelsea turned and stared at him.

"A case which you reliably informed me, will probably last another six months, and eating during that time while concocting a plan as you put it, will not harm you!" She grabbed the plate of biscuits, and handed it to him. "Eat!" Sherlock stared at her, before grabbing a biscuit and nibbling at it, hurriedly eating the whole thing, and taking another when she cleared her throat and looked at him menacingly. After he'd eaten six biscuits, Chelsea put the platter down, satisfied. Sherlock glared at her poutingly.

"You're bad for my health." To which Chelsea stubbornly replied.

"No, you're bad for your health. If you don't eat enough to keep alive while you're on this case, and you die, who's gonna solve all the murders, then?!" Sherlock looked down, abashed. In all his adult life, he'd never been subjected to anything like this. Chelsea Griffiths was a woman of a different kind. She was completely straightforward, no-nonsense, and roundabout a general example of a brawny 1940s housewife. It was almost scary. Almost. He looked up and realised that John and Mary were trying to get rid of their ill-concealed smirks. The doorbell rang, and Sherlock and John looked at each other, but before either could say anything, Chelsea smiled.

"Ah, that would be my friends. They're helping me move all my stuff in." Mrs Hudson moved to get the door, and Chelsea bounded down with her, filled with a relentless energy. Sherlock sighed, and John grinned at the childishness the consulting detective displayed. Footsteps clattered on the staircase, and they heard female voices talking loudly. The doors crashed open, and Sherlock nearly jumped, when Chelsea burst through accompanied by five female friends. Spinning around, Chelsea gestured with a dramatic flourish to the flat.

"And this is where I will be living!" She called over her shoulder to the women who looked at the mess. Sherlock deduced them all. All relatively the same age, two smokers, one drug addict, three with boyfriends, one's engaged and cheating on her fiance with two other men. One's a health addict, another's a cleaning freak with two cats, and was alternating glancing between the room, and it's occupants. John, Mary, and Sherlock stood up, and Chelsea gestured for her friends to drop the stuff and come forward. "Sherlock, Mary, John, meet Claudia Angelas, Lydia Fallon, Jeanette Colburn, Lucy Wixton, and Josephine Bryant. Claud, Lyd, Jean, Luc, Jo, meet Sherlock Holmes, John and Mary Watson." The five women smiled eagerly, and recieved two smils back. Sherlock opened his mouth to reveal his deductions, but a sacharine sweet smile from Chelsea made him think better of it, and he shut his mouth, and offered a brief smile before turning away. Chelsea led the girls through, and Mary followed. The sounds that emanated were proof that the ladies were enjoying themselves immensely. John looked at Sherlock as girlish squeals erupted through the flat.

"The morgue?" Sherlock looked at him slowly.

"John, in all the years I have ever known you, you have never been overly intelligent, but let me just say that that! Was the best suggestion ever!" And so saying he jumped up and grabbing his scarf and coat, made his way down stairs to hail a cab, John by his heels, once more like the old duo.

Molly Hooper was just finishing paperwork in her office, when the door crashed open, and Sherlock and John dramatically entered, John slightly less dramatic, but still dramatic. She squeaked and flinched in surprise, before quickly recovering.

"Sherlock, John! What can I do for you?" She was glad her voice managed to maintain a professional tone to it. Sherlock strode straight in, and flopped down in a chair, and John lounged apologetically by the wall.

"We, Molly, are taking refuge." Sherlock replied. Molly's response was to frown.

"From what?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Not what, whom."

"Okay, from whom?" Molly breathed an internal sigh of relief and a thank you to the gods that her voice still stayed steady. John answered that question.

"From his new flatmate, and her girl gaggle. Blimey, I can't stand it when women go all gushy." Molly smiled at him.

"And you want to hide out here." She stated.

"Not want, need!" Sherlock replied. He threw himself to his feet and prowled restlessly around the room. Molly sighed, and shook her head turning to John.

"In all your time together, did you ever notice that he's a drama queen?" She asked, and John smiled.

"That question has to be rhetorical." Molly nodded affirmitive, and turned to go to back to her paperwork, and promptly bumped into Sherlock. She yelped and leapt back, hand to her heart.

"Damnit Sherlock, you can't just sneak up behind people like that!" Sherlock smirked at her reaction.

"Technically, I didn't sneak." He cooly replied, and Molly glared at him.

"Cut out the technical bullshit, and sit down and stay still or I will call security and have you thrown out!" Sherlock pouted slightly.

"But I'm bored out of my mind!" He protested, and sulked. Molly sighed, turning to John, who shook his head. She heaved a sigh, and turned back.

"Well sit down, and stay still, and if you manage that, when I finish my paperwork, I'll get you something." Sherlock's face lit up, and he smiled.

"I'll just pop up to the morgue and do some experimenting then until you can come." Molly, who had been just about to sit down, straightened immediately.

"Touch that morgue door Sherlock Holmes, and so help me god, I will have you thrown out of that morgue, and keep it that way for a month of Sundays." Sherlock's posture dropped, and immediately he pouted.

"But...

"Sit down." He hesitated and leaned over the desk, hands covering her paperwork. Molly slowly raised her head to meet him.

"Moooollllyyyy." He began, and then a cruel smile settled over her features.

"Want to try for two months?" She suggested, and he virtually leapt into his seat, sending death glares her way, but nothing could stop the victorious smile spreading across her face, and staying there. She finished quickly, and set it aside with a sigh. In the corner of her eye, she saw Sherlock straighten, and John stand up taller, and she drew it back, pretending to check her work. Sherlock fidgeted, and began to fiddle.

"Moooooooolllllyyyy!" He whined, and Molly bit her lip to hide a smile.

"How about three months?" She suggested loudly, and he quietened down, sulking. She tortured him for a few minutes longer, and then closed the folder with a snap, coming to her feet. Sherlock sprang up and dashed out the door, and she called out.

"Slow down, or I will make it four!" He slowed immediately, but kept on passing glances backwards in frustration at her. John kept pace beside her.

"Thanks. That was fun." Molly smirked.

"I agree. I should do that more often." They reached the morgue, and Sherlock held the door open for her, almost bouncing with barely suppressed energy. She stopped, and gave him another sacharine sweet smile. "Why thank you, Sherlock! Turning over a new leaf?" She made her way past him, hyper-aware that he was virtually breathing down her neck. She reached into the fridge, and pulled out some thumbs, and he instantly reached for the packet, but stopped when she held it just out of his reach. Fairly dancing with excitement, he pulled the best puppy-dog face he could do.

"Pllllleeeeaaasseeee, Molly?" She couldn't hold back the smile as she handed him the thumbs. He virtually danced around the room with excitement and then stopped and looked at her. John stiffened beside him as he spoke. "You, Molly, are cruel." Molly fairly grinned at him.

"Love you too, Sherlock. Now get out of my morgue." He left instantly, and John smiled at her, before chasing after the enigatic detective. Molly could only shake her head and sigh.


End file.
